


Where the Shade is Deepest

by GorseMonster



Series: Far Beyond Paradise Lost [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frenemies, Honesty, Hurt/Comfort, Lalafell Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Napping, Other, Short One Shot, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 06:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21094916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GorseMonster/pseuds/GorseMonster
Summary: Tired and in need of rest, Ira seeks the unlikely company of Emet-Selch to share a nap with. They are the Warrior of Light and Darkness, and such a hero cannot be seen wanting just to sleep.(Set during the Rak'tika arc in 5.0)





	Where the Shade is Deepest

The shade of the trees was soothing, hiding Emet-Selch from the primordial Light persisting down upon Rak’tika, and only the soft sound of the lake and the breeze in the leaves chimed in his ears. Snoozing contently, half gazing into the dim flow of the Underworld, he found himself, after some time, disturbed by the sound of footsteps. How had anybody possibly found him?

Sliding open an eye, his brows and nose wrinkled at the sight of the Warrior of Light, closing it again as if pretending they would not disturb him so. Still, the small lalafellin footsteps grew closer and he sighed discontently.

“Room for another small one?”

His eyes opened in mild surprise, blinking a few times before turning his head to regard Ira. Short, even for one of their race, they were rubbing their shoulder. Weariness pulled heavily at their eyelids, sunken and dark. Their dimly, yet distinctly coloured soul, almost overwhelmed with Light, flickered in fits of exhaustion. There was no mummery here, just a tired person in need of rest.

“The Scions didn’t follow me, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just want some rest.”

He deliberated for a moment, before shaking his head and chuckling. “Hero, we are in a forest of a thousand trees and it’s _ mine _ that you wish to slumber under?” he teased, but was surprised when his answer was a slow, soft nod.

“I feel safe...around you,” Ira slowly explained, not truly understanding that feeling themself. But they had found familiarity in Emet-Selch, even related to the words beneath the words he spoke. They had found _ levity _ in the Ascian’s antics, and had caught more than a couple of pointed looks from the Scions for laughing at his dramatisms.

“Fool; do you not find yourself uneased by the sight of me, a _ Garlean, _ the prior Emperor of a nation that has been causing you and yours grief for decades? Not even by the thought of an Ascian, one of your Mother’s loathed denizens of darkness, hearkening on what she would have you believe is the end of the world?” He prattled on, “Does your primitive brain not bay that you run far, far away from me, little abomination?”

Ira shook their head slowly; in a show of peace, they patted their hips, empty of rapier and focus, and in a further, rare display, unclipped the buckles of their clawed gloves, setting them down on the ground, leaving them defenseless. He was fairly sure, up until then, that the gauntlets were welded to their skin. How similar they were to his robed brethren’s attire...

He sighed heavily, rolling his eyes so much his head rolled in turn. “Come then, my dear. I suppose you _ do _deserve some rest,” Emet-Selch said, shrugging off his jacket, patting his lap. “And, I have it on the authority of myself, that I am very comfortable.”

Ira sputtered in response, blushing to the tips of their ears, instead opting to sidle up to Emet-Selch, leaning on his side. “No? You _ wound _ me, my dear,” he said with a sound that verged on a laugh, making Ira’s face tug into a tired smile. Draping the jacket over the small warrior, he loosely curled an arm around them, as their arm laid across his chest. “What’s brought this about, hero?”

“I’m tired, Emet-Selch,” Ira grumbled.

“Oh, I understand that much, but why here, why me?”

Ira shook their head. “I’m _ tired _ . Of all of it. I’m exhausted and I’m forgetting what it’s like to be _ me. _” A laboured pause, and they leaned a cheek into him. “Or maybe I’ve already forgotten.”

It was genuine shock that rippled around Emet-Selch’s soul; had they _ remembered that they had forgot? _ The possibilities burst like fireworks in his mind.

“The Scions are my family, and I want to save this world, but sometimes the way I drive myself feels like I’m not of my own mind. And I fear how much of myself I’ve lost to that which isn’t my own,” they rambled, trying to explain and shaking their head again, fingers following the patterns on Emet-Selch’s undercoat. “I don’t know if I’m making sense.”

He pulled them close, gently lifting the lalafell onto his lap where they could lay comfortably on him, finding they did not object in the slightest despite their earlier rejection. “You make perfect sense. Maybe the most sense I’ve heard out of you since I joined your motley crew of self-appointed heroes,” he said, ending with a tease. Ira trembled against him, and he realised they were both weeping, and laughing bitterly all at once. “I know, my dear.” A touch of darkness laid upon searing light, soothing the agony Ira felt so acutely, yet continued to bear. For the sake of the First. For _ Hydaelyn. _ What else could they do? Just as tempered as he, unable to stop.

The two were silent for some time, until a soft sound rose from Ira; snoring. Possibly the first true rest they had drifted into since they arrived on the First. Peering up at the faint fragment trailing Ira’s every move, he made a soft shushing noise. “Do not disturb them, spectre. They have earned this small grace from me.”

Ardbert frowned, but bowed his head, fading into the background once more, leaving Emet-Selch to sleep, guarding the fragile, tired Warrior from those who would disturb them both.

By the time he woke, Ira was gone, and he did not know if we would ever see that gentleness again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still around, but have fallen into the trap of spinning too many fic plates to finish any single one. However, I wanted to write this short Rak'tika interlude of Ira dropping their mask enough to make Emet-Selch drop his.


End file.
